This is all about me and changes over time, as recognized by another. That ‘other’ is my husband of 33 years, Paul. In the early years of our relationship, he often referred to me (hopefully, jokingly) as ‘the colonel.’ Yes, I was bossy and, evidently, expected to be obeyed. I never contradicted him, sensing the truth of it, though I certainly felt dinged by this label.

Recently, he has stopped referring to me as ‘the colonel,’ replacing that label with ‘the queen,’ which has a completely different vibe. I definitely enjoy this title more than the previous one! I’m not going to pick apart the words and the implications of their use. Rather, I’m going to give an example of changes in me that may explain the change of words. Now comes an apparent change of subject, however, they are related.

Yesterday, I attended an extraordinary memorial service for Bud Murphy, aged 73, who was my manager during the 80’s and 90’s at Price Waterhouse, when we were each in our 30’s. What made it extraordinary was the range of people present who clearly loved him deeply during his life, though at different stages. With all of us gathered and sharing stories of him, Bud became a whole person, instead of the bits and pieces that we each knew independently. Hosted by David, his husband and partner of twenty years, also present were an earlier partner, arrived from Germany; another friend, who described Bud’s younger and wilder days; plus his older sister; a musician who had hired Bud for opera performances, other friends from San Francisco, his most recent home, and more.

We told many stories, quite different from each other, each reflecting the deep love Bud had summoned from each of us, love that he had returned. My story was this: shortly after I’d begun to work for him, I learned that the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey circus was coming to town. People were invited to nominate someone, in fifty words or less, to be clown-for-a-day. I carefully put together my fifty words, trying to capture the big heart and giant laugh of this loving man. To my surprise, I was notified that he was chosen and that six of us would receive free circus entry when he was costumed and decorated to be a clown for the audience.

Here’s where my hesitation became apparent. I had not yet told him about my nomination. How would he feel about it? Would he think I was making fun of him? Finally, I told him what he had won. To my relief, he was delighted! We all had a wonderful day at the circus. And yesterday at his memorial, I saw on the poster board a picture of him as a clown taken that day nearly forty years ago. It was so important to him that he had kept it, all these years.

Back to my opening thoughts: while present at Bud’s memorial and taking in the many phases of his life, previously unknown to me, I also became more present to past phases of my life in a new way. All of these phases are connected, though not always seen or recognized. What is the difference between a colonel and a queen? I may be challenged to describe the difference in words, but I recognize the difference in my heart.

Copyright ©️ 2023

There will be no big reveals in this writing, only my expression of the enormous joy I often experience in my water aerobics class, attended usually on Monday and Wednesday mornings at 8:45 at the local Y.

7:15 am At home before that, I sit with my iPad, scanning headlines of the Boston Globe and the New York Times, sometimes drilling down to details, always spending time with the games, especially Wordle. My favorite game of the moment is Letter Boxed, a game with about fifteen letters spread around a box. The challenge is to create four (or five or six) words to use all of the letters. Anyways, during this game time, I feel gloriously lazy, unmoving on a comfortable chair, designated as the electric chair by my husband. We got it for him just before his knee replacements last year, somewhat against his will. Of course, he used it gratefully after his surgeries, but now, it’s only me who sits in it. I love it! Thus, when it’s time for me to lower it and leave it for my water aerobics class, I don’t really want to, but I do, often arriving at class two or three minutes late.

8:46 am The pool is huge, L-shaped and my class is not always in the same area of the pool. Yesterday, it was at the far end, so today I rushed in, late, noticing that I could hear the music as soon as I entered the pool area, moving quickly to the other end. After a moment of confusion because my class wasn’t there, I finally noticed I had passed the class, because it had changed locations again.

The water always feels a bit chilly initially, but water jogging corrects that quickly as I engage in the exercises, yielding to the music and its pleasures. Sometimes there’s a tension between my desire to sing along (which I do, quietly) and the timing of the movements, but that’s minor. I always go with the music, which I simply love. The old tunes, including ABBA’s Super Trouper, Mama Mia, and Dancing Queen, energize me, make me feel seventeen again. I forget that I’m in a pool with other grey-haired women and my body feels young and beautiful again. I feel like the ballerina that I’ve never been and I remember the many proms and military balls I attended when I was in the Cardinals Drum Corps.

9:06 am And, my body is working, though I’ve never been naturally inclined to exercise. I feel the work I’ve been doing and glance at the clock. It’s only 9:06. I’ve been exercising for only twenty minutes. After those minutes of delight, I feel a bit of despair. Twenty-five minutes to go. I want to maintain the pleasure throughout the entire 45-minute class, but it’s not to be.

9:25 am Somehow, I go back to that place of contentment again, to be interrupted when the door ahead of me to the family locker room opens. Preschool children emerge, led by and followed by their guardians, heading to the other end of the pool for swimming lessons. The facial expressions of these beautiful children are mixed, some annoyed, some curious, a few smiling. I am reminded of my time at the Y more than fifty years ago, as a young mom with my four-year-old son, Jackie, for his swim lessons. Did I ever notice the old ladies at the pool then? I don’t think so. But, remembering that time and seeing these children today gives me such joy!

9:30 am The class ends, I shower, dress, and head for my car. I notice again a car that caught my attention on the way in, a tiny red convertible, that I imagined a handsome young man driving. But wait! One of the grey-haired women from my class is getting into it! I stop to tell her how much I love her car, how happy I am to see her driving it, and wish her a good day.

9:45 am Next, I stop at Bonny Bread, for a delicious breakfast sandwich on a fresh brioche roll. I feel so rich in the joys of my life and it’s only mid-morning. More joy awaits me . . .

Copyright ©️ 2023

On June 20, 2020, an African man was arrested in Danvers for driving under the influence. His trial was held on June 21, 2023. He rejected a jury trial and was found guilty by the judge. His story is of interest, particularly during this time of increased racial injustice awareness.

Shortly after his arrest, I learned of him through a social justice group connected to Beverly’s Zen Center and became part of his support group of six white people, accompanying him to court for multiple hearings during the three years.

The defendant, James, is the author of his memoir, I Was Just a Quiet Little Boy, describing his childhood in Sudan during the Sudanese war, his years in refuge camps, his education, and his immigration to the United States. He does not drink.

During the years of hearings, we (his support group) learned that his arrest in the Danvers Market Basket parking lot occurred after a woman called the police to report his erratic driving, parking, and his unsteady walk into the store. The police arrived on the scene. Two different versions of the story happened next, depending on who is telling the story.

According to James, as he approached his car with his bag of groceries, he was interrupted by the police, who asked for his license and kept it, prevented him from putting his groceries in his car, then asked him to take a breathalyzer test. He took the test twice. Neither time did it indicate a lack of sobriety, so the officer determined the test to be faulty.

The officer asked James to perform other standard sobriety tests, involving walking. The officer observed the results and considering James to have failed these tests, arrested him for DUI.

Later, the police officer reported that James did not have a license with him, although it had been taken from him. He was not allowed to enter or drive his car.

The police officer did not have a body camera and Market Basket was never asked for its videos of the event. James was never observed driving by the officer, yet he was convicted of a DUI, merely on the evidence of the officer’s report of walking sobriety tests.

According to James’ appointed attorney, he was not able to raise the issue of the breathalyzer tests and whether it was actually faulty, or whether, in fact, it had accurately indicated James’ sobriety. James’ guilty finding resulted in an additional three months without his license; he has already been without it for these past three years. Additionally, he is required to take multiple classes, costing thousands of dollars. James works as a dishwasher.

This has diminished my faith in our justice system, that one police officer’s opinion has so adversely affected an innocent man’s life.

Copyright ©️ 2023

I’m seventy-six, with a multitude of ailments, but can mostly do what I want to do, provided there is not a lot of physical exertion. For example, this morning I participated in a water aerobics class at my local Y, doing most of the demonstrated exercises, occasionally slowing the pace for myself to a half speed. I love that class with our instructor, Scott!

During the past few months, several friends and relatives have died, passed on to the next realm. Some have been about my age, but two, Judith and Eden, were younger. We’re never ready for someone else to move on and, of course, I don’t expect to feel ready when it’s my turn.

I’m aware of being older, of moving more slowly, always holding the banister while walking up or down stairs, remembering my faster movements of years ago.

Is the realization of my impending demise the reason for my accentuated pleasure in many of my current activities? I am conscious of the increased pleasure in relatively minor things, even eating. Some foods no longer give me pleasure, such as lobster. Unfortunately, some foods continue to delight me too much, such as a really good chocolate brownie or piece of cake.

Among my regular pleasures right now are cappuccino, hand-delivered by my husband several days each week, and specific breakfast items. These include the Brioche breakfast sandwich from our local bakery, Bonney Bread, and the quesadilla from One Mighty Mill, in Lynn. Each of those provide me with a delicious treat once a week.

Something that provided a treat for me last night were fresh red, white, and purple radishes from Tender Crop Farms. I salted them with orange-ginger salt, bought at another local shop. I love it that something so simple can provide such a pleasure for me!

After this writing, I’ll be joining other women for a lunch at Su Chang’s. Our group is diminishing as we age and slow down. However, I continue to have the pleasure of picking up my friend, Fran, just weeks after her knee replacement, still moving, still enjoying life and this lunch. These lunches, taken for granted fairly recently, now move higher in my appreciation, not only for the food, but for the company. We’ve known each other for decades, with varying degrees of appreciation. We don’t always agree on political issues, however, at a personal level, we are respectful.

After lunch, I’ll be attending — and cheering on — a Juneteenth flag raising in neighboring Marblehead. Unlike the lunch, I’ll be with people who share my strong social justice views. Then, this evening, I’ll be with yet another group of friends at my on-line Bible study, where people with differing religious backgrounds, Christian, Jewish, and me, Quaker, offer their perspectives on whichever verses are under the microscope this week.

Last night, I listened to a poetry reading where the topic was suicide and the poet was a young Christian. She, Maya Williams, included poems written about two biblical characters who committed suicide, Judas and Samson. Although I’m very familiar with their stories, I’ve never thought of them as having committed suicide. Her poems were direct, powerful, and timely, for so many people today, especially young people, are considering, attempting, or completing suicide, frustrated by the problems of the world and their seeming inability to change anything.

Let me end on a more positive note. Yesterday, at a neighboring senior center, I watched the documentary, about fifteen years old, Young at Heart, about elderly people in a chorus that toured in Europe, to cheering crowds and even performed in a prison to inmates who were totally engaged. The. chorus members were not particularly musically talented. However, they loved practicing and performing. They loved life and it showed. I, also, am loving life, every day that remains to me.

Copyright ©️ 2023

My three weeks in Bali were extraordinary. Now, I’ve never gone on a vacation that I didn’t love, never traveled to a place that I didn’t care for. However, there was something different, more special about Bali that I can’t describe. Something seemingly minor, though, draws me to invest in this description: the characterization of four people we encountered who made strong impressions on me, each for a different reason.

First, I want to present David, encountered at the airport in Bali while we were waiting to board our flight for home. We were earlier than required, so had two hours to spend before check in. We sat down in a coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino for me and a coffee for Paul, and settled in. Somehow, at airports, it feels more acceptable to talk to strangers than it might elsewhere. David was sitting alone at the next table and we asked him where he was headed. As we began to talk, we invited him to join us at our table. He was from Australia and was waiting for a flight to Vietnam.

He told us that he was waiting for a Visa to arrive, needed in order to board the flight in about three hours. He was not certain that it would arrive in time. Then, he shared more of his story. He was in his forties and his mother had died the year before. She had always talked about her desire to travel, but had never traveled. While considering her life and her unmet dreams, David made the decision to take a year and travel around the world. He was beginning that journey right now!

We shared his excitement and congratulated him for making this decision, wishing him luck on receiving the Visa in time for his flight to Vietnam. Then, we parted to wander the airport before our flights. After about an hour we crossed paths with him again and asked about his Visa. He was no longer waiting for it, but had changed his mind and decided to fly to Singapore, was on his way to board the plane.

Now, I had only known David for a couple of hours, but his decision had a remarkable effect on me. How often have you known someone who makes an unexpected, startling decision, based simply on his immediate desires? My experience is that our lives are so complex, so intertwined, that we can seldom simply consider our own needs and desires. Just thinking about it makes me feel the selfishness of it. But, is it really selfish? Perhaps not. Certainly not.

I felt really impressed that he made that choice. We didn’t exchange contact information, so I’ll never know who his trip, his year turns out. I bet it will be wonderful and full of growth, spiritual and mental, for him.

Another person I met, Michaela, made a strong impression on me, too, perhaps for a similar reason. We met during our last week on Bali, at a coastal resort in Permuteran. I noticed her at breakfast, sitting by herself at another table in the sand, just a few feet from the Bali Sea. When we finished our breakfast, I approached her table and asked if I could interrupt her solitude. I asked if she was traveling alone. When she responded, ‘Yes,’ we began a conversation. I applauded her for her courage and she told me more of her story. She was also from Australia and was to tun fifty in three weeks. She wanted to travel, though at that time with no willing and available friends, so she decided to do it on her own.

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It takes a lot of courage to do that and I admired her. She was a scuba diver and was signed up for scuba trips. We were both going to be there for a few days, so I invited her to join us any time for a meal on the beach. Then, we parted ways.

Two days later, she found us at breakfast and asked if we wanted to join her for dinner at a neighboring restaurant, a ten minute walk away. We agreed, then met her later, after we had each had a massage at the local spa. At dinner, which was delicious, we shared stories and contact information, each inviting the other to our homes in Australia and the US. I hope we’ll get to see each other again!

The next people I want to share with you here have already been described in a previous blog. This young Indonesian couple, whose names I don’t even know, had the generosity of spirit to invite me (who they didn’t know) to share an adventure with them, swimming in a cave, during their vacation. That swim in the cave was a highlight of the trip for me, so unexpected, so challenging, such a personal triumph.

Our world is filled with adventurous, generous people, just waiting to meet us! Let’s give them that chance. Let’s take a chance!

Copyright ©️ 2023

Typically when I travel, I visit and enjoy museums, as they give me a broader perspective and a sense of the history of the place, enlarging my actual experience. When I was in Egypt last year, I immensely enjoyed the Cairo museum with its spectacular exhibits, many collected from nearby sites. Additionally, I had an experience that dramatically alerted me to a common occurrence, when, at that Cairo museum, I examined the replica of the Rosetta Stone, because the original had been moved to a London museum, thus was unavailable in this place which was its actual home.

Traveling in Indonesia on the islands of Bali and Nusa Tenggara, I did not visit any museums, though later, when I looked through my Lonely Planet guide, many were listed. Nevertheless, I did not feel deprived of museums and of the historical perspective they can provide. Now, it makes me think: when is the right time for the artifacts, the things of a culture, to move to a museum?

In Ubud, we stayed in a guesthouse (Sania’s), very old, with misshapen stone stairways, worn over generations, with beautifully carved doorways and intricately carved furniture, where we sat for our breakfast. As an aside, we chose each day between the typical Indonesian breakfast of fried rice or Western options of eggs or pancakes, each served with a fresh fruit platter and coffee or tea.

On one of our ‘tours,’ a day-long drive, just us with our driver, among other things, we visited one of the ubiquitous Hindu temples. To address a false impression of my own, these temples are unlike churches or synagogues that are familiar to us as single buildings. No, these ancient Hindu temples are sited on acres, enclosed by a wall and containing a multitude of buildings, statues, shrines, fountains, gardens, and smaller spaces designated for prayer. Before entering the temple, a guest must be robed in a sarong, both men and women, available for a small offering at the entrance gate. The sarong was to be returned at the end of the visit. My own long skirt was not considered as an appropriate substitute for the sarong, but needed to be covered by the sarong.

One of the temples that we visited was considered a ‘holy water’ temple: a river ran through it, contained by walls and available to guests for blessings, by walking in it, more than waist high. For this, another special wading sarong was available. Although we had secured the proper sarongs upon entering the temple, we passed on the opportunity to receive the water’s blessings in the special sarong.

Back to the topic of this essay, museums. This was an ancient temple, its purpose essentially unchanged for centuries. Was not this a museum? No, not in the usual meaning of museum, but in its actual purpose, to give a person the sense of existing in a former time?

Was it acting as a museum only for me, visiting from a different culture and a different time? For me, it certainly served the purpose of a museum, allowed me to experience a different culture, a different time. My Lonely Planet guide describes an ‘inherent spirituality’ in these islands. I truly experienced this throughout our three weeks, not only at this temple.

I need to describe an incident at odds with this perspective that occurred at the same temple, shortly after our arrival. An Indonesian woman holding a bunch of small bananas approached me, offering me a banana, even peeling it for me. I thanked her, then she pushed a bag of about a dozen bananas towards me and told me their price. I offered her a strong, ‘No, thank you,’ and pressed a small offering toward her for the banana I had already bit into. This was an important reminder for me that, despite the ‘spirituality’ so abundant in this place, other factors were also at work.

Nevertheless, this temple was, for me, a museum, beautiful and alive.

Copyright ©️ 2023

This was day 14 of our trip to Bali, that ended up including time on Flores Island, another beautiful Indonesian island.

Wait til you hear about today’s adventure du jour! It began at breakfast, when we exchanged waves with a cute three-year-old girl and her parents. We’d decided that we needed a day simply to chill and planned nothing for the day, other than swimming and snorkeling at our hotel. 

At about four o’clock, we walked past the room next door, where the parents of that cute three-year-old were staying with her. We exchanged greetings, then the man told us they were going to a nearby cave to swim, inviting us to join him. Long ago, I had been swimming in caves in Thailand and in Mexico. Each time it had been an adventure, so I immediately said yes. Paul said he was’t interested, but I could go, if I wanted. They were ready to leave, so I asked how much money I should take. The man said, ‘none,’ he’d take care of it, so I grabbed a bottle of water and left with them in their car.

He spoke decent English and I learned they were from Bali, here on vacation. The drive was to be about thirty minutes. After about fifteen minutes had passed, I had second thoughts. I had no idea who these people were or exactly where we were headed. I couldn’t imagine what harm they might do to me, though I briefly considered that they might sell my body for parts, except my parts are old and not in great shape.

They mentioned that we’d need to take a boat to the cave, asking if I was ok with that. I said yes, wondering what if I had said no. Anyways, we finally reached the place with the boat, where my new friend negotiated the cost of ferrying us to the cave. The boat he negotiated for didn’t look great, but I got in. 

Then, another couple on the bank joined us, Angie and Abby. They were speaking English, which immediately made me feel both better and guilty. I like to think I’m open-minded, but the reality is that I’m most comfortable in familiar circumstances, like with English speakers. They were from Ireland and we immediately bonded. 

When we were in the middle of the crossing, the rickety boat stopped. My mind quickly remembered the many times I’ve read about tourists on a ferry somewhere that sunk, drowning everyone. I thought of Paul, who would not know for a while what had happened. I also reaffirmed how good my life has been, so, whatever happens, ok. Well, obviously I’m writing this, so there was no catastrophe. The ‘captain’ crawled under some floor boards and got the engine running again.

Angie and I each took a deep breath and smiled. She gathered up my bag with my bottled water to carry it for me. Everyone with us (all decades younger than me) offered a hand whenever I was moving on the boat, climbing out of it, or using the rickety ladder to get off.

We arrived at the cave’s entrance after climbing a rickety dock from our boat. The guy who invited me (I still didn’t know his name) talked to the attendant and paid our fees at the simple entrance to this national park. Later, he told me that, because the park charges more for foreigners than for natives, he said I was his mother!

Then, we walked a short distance over rough terrain to reach the cave. That’s when it got a little scary! The cave descended with big rocks down to the water. We used our sandals at first, then needed to remove them because of moisture. Again, everyone offered me their hands for support as I climbed down. I was having second thoughts about actually swimming here, wondering how I would ever get out.

Little by little, everyone else jumped in, encouraging me. I moved down the last rocks approaching the water on my bottom, then slid into the water. What a feeling of triumph! I yelled out, “I did it!” Everyone shouted their congratulations, saying they wanted to be as brave when they reach my age.

Several of the others climbed the rocks again, jumping in from a scary height. I was happy simply to swim.

When it was time to leave, I simply moved slowly and carefully up the rocks, with lots of helping hands. Then, over the rickety dock, climbing down to the rickety boat. Again, Angie and I breathed a sigh of relief at our success in maneuvering the territory.

Next, I said goodby, with hugs, to my new ‘friends,’ Angie and Abby, before I got into the car of strangers, my hotel neighbor couple, still not knowing their names. During the ride back to our hotel, the Hotel Sylvia (not to be confused with Leonard Cohen’s Sylvia), the sun was setting against an incredible bright orange sky.

We reached our hotel. I said warm, sincere thanks, sharing hugs with these kind, generous Indonesian strangers, with whom I’d taken a risk, all because of seeing them with their beautiful three-year-old daughter!

https://www.tripadvisor.com/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g1777483-i434379152-Labuan_Bajo_Flores_East_Nusa_Tenggara.html

Copyright ©️ 2023

We know we’re each in our own bubble, right? Self-focused, self-immersed, with our vision limited, not so much by being myopic, as much as by an inability to really see beyond ourselves. Well, my bubble right now is one of excessive goodness. I was reminded of this by Matt Haig’s book, The Midnight Library, p. 234, where a particular life was described thus: “It was an excess of good.”

My life has certainly been ‘an excess of good,’ not that I haven’t enjoyed every minute. Often when people describe or notice unfairness, it’s because they feel themselves shortchanged or the victim. Contrary to that, I have often experienced such abundance, such plenty, that I wonder at the universe’s decision-making process. I get it that my personal choices have contributed to my life; however, the end result is far more that merely my personal choices.

Now, you might also look at me and think, “What is she talking about?” I am not wealthy, in the literal, material sense of the word. But, I have enough, more than enough, actually, and I have an incredible sense of appreciation and wonder at this life that I inhabit.

Right now, I am twelve hours ahead of boarding a flight with my husband to Bali, to Indonesia. I am not yet fully believing that it’s true, partly because I never planned it. It started when a friend asked if I’d be her travel buddy, to visit another friend who has lived there for the past five years. Of course, I said yes and we made our reservations, deciding on business class, because we’re not young anymore. Because of a really sad occurrence, my friend cancelled and I briefly considered traveling solo. The short story is that my husband, Paul, decided to travel with me.

I have packed carefully and lightly, with only a carryon as my checked luggage. My actual carryon holds a snorkel and mask, with shorts and a tee shirt. If they lose my luggage, I can still snorkel in that tropical paradise! I’m taking with me a book written by my climate-protester friend, Hide, fiction that involves concern for the earth. After reading the first twenty pages, I decided that I needed to take it with me for plane-reading.

Back to my bubble. Of course, you may be thinking, of course, I’m in a bubble, ready to spend three weeks on the other side of the planet. The other major parts of my life are equally good: a son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law, both loving and nearby; many friends and relatives in multiple groupings, of many ages; many activities, including water aerobics at the local Y, a local political group, the best neighbors, two writing groups, a Bible study group, and my beloved Quaker Friends. What’s not to love?

I also have the occasional thorns in my side, as do we all, and sadnesses, including recent deaths of people I love, plus serious illnesses of others. My health is far from perfect and Paul had two knee replacements last year. Nevertheless, my joy is boundless, though my pleasure in preparing meals is significantly reduced, as is my ability to hike.

My wonder at the world that surrounds us continues to increase, as does my amazement at some of the people in it who make choices adversely affecting the planet for their personal profit. It’s not new. Tobacco companies continued to sell their wares, knowing the damage their products were causing in human beings. My bubble does not include our planet, never mind the universe, so it is pricked often by awareness of the dangers that exist. In my own bubble, all is good. I live mostly in this bubble, venturing out with my civic swords, trying to change the ways of the systems that harm us and our gorgeous planet.

Copyright ©️ 2023

What do you think this is going to be about? The title is a bit provocative, intentionally. I have just returned from an incredible weekend of pleasure, not decadent pleasure, but rather pleasure that expands and supports your best self. It was not self-serving and self-indulgent in an ordinary way, though it felt totally self-indulgent. It was my second time of attending Renee Trudeau’s women’s retreat. (Read about my January 2023 experience here.) I enjoyed the first one so much that, when I returned home, I sent an email to several friends, inviting them to attend in April 2023. One of them, Sara, took me up on my invitation and joined me on my return to Kripalu to repeat Awaken the Wild Woman’s Soul.

I want to make two apparently opposing points, first, that repeating a powerful activity can be even more empowering the second time; and second, that choosing to break with a pattern, i.e., disrupting it, is an effective method of creating change.

First, on repeating a powerful activity: When I returned from Kripalu in January, I was recharged, enthusiastic about continuing work on my book, intending to combine stories of specific travel experiences with life-altering effects of that travel. Additionally, I felt nurtured, refreshed, energized, encouraged, naturally high. Within that bubble, I made reservations with my friend, Sara, to repeat the weekend three months later. As those three months passed, I began to wonder whether I had set myself up for disappointment.

Last Friday, I picked up Sara and we traveled to Kripalu, chattering the whole way, delighting in each other’s company. She lives far enough away (about 75 miles) that we don’t see each other often. I had lowered my expectations for the weekend, so that I wouldn’t be too disappointed if it didn’t live up to my memory of the January weekend. I could at least enjoy the time with Sara.

Just beginning the weekend, the Friday evening session was more than satisfying! Renee has a way of collecting the energy from all of us within our space (this time, for more than forty women) and funneling it back to us, tempered, strengthened, purified, crystallized, enlightened, inviting us to take it back in, to be clearer, more visible, even more sacred. During the weekend, she encouraged us to care for ourselves, to rest, to move and dance, to sing, to express gratitude, to enjoy our voices and our bodies. She invited us to trust more, to trust ourselves more, to be more open, to recognize and invite more pleasure into our lives. We sang, we danced, we moved, we massaged our feet with a luscious oil, we added exotic golden ‘tattoos’ to our bodies, we re-learned the rightness of indulging ourselves in these pleasures. Some of the words that I heard her repeat occasionally were sacred, pleasure, grateful, delicious, and disrupt.

Renee reminded us to be mindful of our three-year-old selves, still inside us, and how they should be treated. Would we ever say to a three-year-old having a bad moment (or day,) “Get over it!” No, and we shouldn’t say that to ourselves, either. Remembering that, I found an old picture of my son at about three, just to remind me of the shiny brightness of a three-year-old.

Renee said so many simple, yet pivotal little phrases that I was sure I was going to remember, but, of course, have forgotten. Maybe, ‘move a muscle, change a thought.’ She gave us neurological information, such as that we have about 60,000 thoughts a day and most of them are repeated daily. We change our thoughts, our behaviors by being disruptive, a word that although certainly very familiar, became new for me. When I protest for climate action or social justice, I am being disruptive, seeking to cause change.

It occurred to me that, along with other reasons that I want to write my book to promote travel (such as a larger connection to other peoples and cultures of the world), both travel and deciding to travel disrupt our lives in a positive way. That is the reason that some folks desire to travel and it is also the reason that others avoid it! I am clearly a member of the former group.

At the end of the weekend, before heading home, I asked Renee if, when I’m ready to publish, she would be willing to write a blurb for my book. She said, “Yes!” Later, I asked my friend, Sara, if she might have said yes, just to be nice. Sara assured me, having read Renee’s notes on multiple ways to say ‘no,’ that she certainly knew how to say no and chose to say yes.

So, back to my two main points, taken from this weekend of recognizing, remembering, and enjoying pleasure. First, on repetition, I repeated this weekend and did not find it to be boring, but the opposite. Yes, it was familiar, but reinforcing, even more enriching than the first weekend with Renee. Second, on disruption, I have a new awareness of its importance in my life and its place in my forthcoming book, the center of which will be my description of one of my extreme pleasures, swimming in two-mile-deep ocean, 1000 miles from land.

Copyright ©️ 2023

It’s my writing time, but I don’t feel like writing. So, what to do? I’m approaching the end of a book I’ve really enjoyed (The Marriage Portrait, by Maggie O’Farrell) and I’m also nearing completion of a thousand-piece puzzle that I’d love to finish. Reading or puzzling? No, I’m a stoic, so I WILL WRITE.

Interesting to me, that I feel compelled to write without being in the mood, even when other enjoyable tasks beckon to me. Retired, I treasure my open time, time not dedicated to a particular task. And, there’s so much of it! I ‘work’ three hours a week at BevCam, the local Beverly TV station, scanning old documents, so the paper documents can be discarded, either recycled or shredded, depending on their sensitivity. This ‘job’ is under the auspices of our Senior Center, which manages the program allowing seniors to work off $1000 of their property taxes during 75 hours of volunteer work at various activities. I enjoy my time there very much, reminded of the satisfaction I often felt during my work before retirement.

I have loose commitments to ‘attend’ on-line sessions, some Quaker-based, others educational or entertaining. One that I watched recently was an interview with Alexandra Cousteau. Remember her grandfather, Jacques Cousteau? She has followed in his path, learning to swim before she could walk, starting to dive with him when she was seven. She described the damage and devastation she’s seen within the oceans during her life, resulting from climate change, but ended her presentation on a positive note. Evidently seaweed is a collector of carbon dioxide, similar to trees in a forest. So, we can look to our oceans to help in our planet protection endeavors.

My writing on travel has taken un unexpected turn, because of an unplanned trip in my near future. After a friend called on me to join her on a three-week visit to Bali, where her friend has lived for five years, we made the reservations, choosing business class because of the lengthy flights (and our aging bodies!) Two weeks later, her friend’s son died unexpectedly, so her friend is now in the US, planning to be here for several months. So my friend decided to cancel her flight reservation, not wanting to postpone for another date. After briefly considering whether I should simply travel alone, I asked my husband whether he wanted to join me for three weeks in Bali in May. He said yes, I added another flight reservation, and now we are looking forward to three weeks in paradise!

Bali is about as far away from here as I can go, without leaving the planet.

I bought a new snorkel and face mask, anticipating the excellent snorkeling there, not wanting to rent a snorkel to put in my mouth. Before Covid, I would not have given it a second thought, but now, I can’t imagine using another person’s snorkel. The fins, fine, plus they’re too big to pack in my luggage.

The other activity I’m looking forward to is visiting Komodo Dragon National Park, on a neighboring island, Nusa Tenggara. Weighing as much as 300 pounds, these lizards are only found in this area of Indonesia, so seeing them will be a special opportunity.

Back to consideration of the various activities that fill my days now. There is often a dilemma between relaxing into a self-indulgent leisure activity that I love and choosing a task that must be accomplished, such as writing checks to pay bills or doing laundry. I’m still the task-oriented person that I’ve always been, only now there are fewer tasks that require my attention. I love retirement, yet still occasionally feel grumpy for no particular reason. Or – maybe my grumpiness is the result of the world and country-wide news items that sadden and anger me. In one sense, they don’t touch me as directly as the pleasures that are closer to my life, yet they require my attention and often, action. Because of this, they puncture the bubble of my everyday life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Copyright ©️ 2023